A Pair Of Shadows
by emerald sorceress
Summary: Resurrected and on the run, Morgana is hidden by the dragon Aithusa where no-one will find her… in a cave in the Scottish highlands 1500 years in the future. A cave already shared by another fugitive named Sirius Black…
1. A New World

**Title:** A Pair Of Shadows

**Rating:** T

**Pairing: **Eventual Sirius/Morgana.

**Setting:** Post Series 4 for Merlin, G.O.F for Harry Potter. I cannot stress how AU this will be.

**Summary:** Resurrected and on the run, Morgana is hidden by the dragon Aithusa where no-one will find her… in a cave in the Scottish highlands 1500 years in the future. A cave already shared by another fugitive; a fugitive named Sirius Black…

* * *

She'd died.

Barely managing to escape from Camelot, Merlin's magic lacerating her heels as she fled, her side burned from the wounds she had sustained in trying to leave. The magical backlash from porting over such a great distance had scalded her insides, searing the backs of her eyes golden as she'd desperately pushed all her energy into simply escaping from the people who had once loved her.

With a loud crack, Morgana had dropped into the woods she had called home for months now and landed hard against the unforgiving ground. The breath squeezed from her lungs by the impact she had rolled onto her good side and tried to draw in air, but all she could manage was a wheezing gasp. Her lungs had rattled in her chest and she had known.

She would not leave the forest alive.

Forcing herself to her feet, bones aching, side on fire, eyes half blind with tears she had stumbled onwards, away from Camelot and everything it stood for.

Away from her failure and her hatred and her love.

She'd managed to stagger on for a mile before her steps finally faltered and she collapsed. Her breathing was shallow now, pulse racing beneath her moon pale skin and her heart was in her mouth and she could taste blood and knew it was the end.

On the sodden forest floor, amongst the mist and the mud she breathed her last, once and forever alone.

Not a queen. Not a witch. Not anything.

* * *

Except, suddenly she was opening her eyes and a milk white dragon, no bigger than a lapdog, was peering at her from atop a moss strewn tree stump and she was alive.

Alive and breathing freely, her magic crackling up and down her skin in reassurance, eyes bleeding gold and she could feel hysteria scrabbling at her insides as she sat up.

The mad desire to laugh and scream and cry at the same time clawed at her throat, eyes stinging with tears but before the madness took her the dragon was by her side.

A song, bright as a sunburst and melodic like a running river swept through her mind, healing and soothing as the dragon's snout pressed against her face, the dry, warm scales sliding against her skin like a cat's greeting and a voice spoke in her mind.

'_My name is Aithusa. You are Morgana. We have been destined since Time's Dawn. Calm and be Still. We are One. Calm and be Still.'_

The voice, young and bubbling, wrapped around Morgana's mind in a comforting embrace and then softly withdrew as the dragon settled in her lap and curled her tail around herself, smoke wisping gently from her nostrils.

Morgana drew deep breaths, tasting the mist in the air and the coldness of the forest and tried to shape her thoughts which, now soothed by Aithusa's intervention ran through her mind like quicksilver as the immediate past flashed by and she realised all that had happened.

Her quest had proved fruitless.

The people she had once loved now hated her and she had nothing and no-one except her magic and even that had failed her when faced with Arthur and Merlin and her bittersweet downfall at the hands of her brother and his servant.

She was alone and she was exhausted with trying to prove herself a better ruler than Uther and worthy of her magic. Her eyes shut at the memory of the man who had sired her and yet denied all claims of kinship. She hated him with every fibre of her being- the man had murdered his way to absolute rulership over his people and had been a tyrant over the druids and her magic wielding kind. Yet he had raised her, given her her every wish and sheltered her after the death of her parents.

Her parents. Her sister. She wondered what they would think of her now, sodden to the bone, covered in her own blood, encrusted with dirt and sunk so low, brought down by those she had once called friends, those she had once trusted and her own foolish pride.

Death had given her a bitingly realistic view of her own life and she could admit now; admit that it was her pride that had killed her. Her pride that she alone could fix Uther's mistakes and that she alone deserved the crown. The irony that her desire to help her people had led to her only serving herself was bitter on her tongue. And it was only now, now when she had nothing and no-one that she could see what a mess she had made and the bitter dream of a wasted opportunity almost destroyed her.

The dull rumble of thunder overhead shook her from her thoughts. Except it wasn't thunder, she realised, with a growing dread that sank deep inside her.

It was Arthur and the Knights of Camelot and they were coming to kill her.

A grim smile crossed her face at her approaching death and a subtle, tiny voice whispered in her head that perhaps she deserved it.

Aithusa snorted beside her and clambered off her lap.

'_We must leave_. _Come.'_

And with those words the young dragon beat her wings and flew into the air, hovering just below the tree line, blue eyes boring into Morgana's.

"But where can we go? The whole kingdom knows me, knows who I am and what I've done. Nowhere is safe." Morgana shook her head. "Far better to make a stand here, than die in a ditch somewhere like a dog."

'_I did not save you, only for you to be killed by the King and his followers. There is a place I know of where you will be free from those who persecute you. Where they can never follow you. Come.'_

Morgana hesitated and Aithusa circled her anxiously, even as the shouts of the knights drew nearer, the braying of their mounts ringing through the forest as they charged over the brow of the hill.

'_Morgana. Trust me.'_

Their armour glinted like the flash of lightening before rain.

'_We must go. Now!'_

She ran.

* * *

Bare feet pounding through the dirt, she brushed past branches, heels striking the ground as she fled through the forest, Aithusa's wings beating high above her as she wove her way through the undergrowth.

Brambles snagged at her skirts, her soles bled as she scrambled over rocks, her lungs burned in her chest, her calves ached with running and yet still they climbed through the forest to the place Aithusa promised would lead to safety.

The knights were less than fifty paces behind her now and gaining. She could feel Merlin's eyes burning into the back of her head, heard the warning shouts, heard her name called by Arthur-

Magic blasted the tree to her left and the trunk exploded in a ball of splinters. Shards sprayed out around her in a deadly shower and even as she brought up her hands to protect her face a thick sliver of wood, the length of her forearm, embedded itself into her left shoulder.

Gritting her teeth to stop herself screaming out she ran on, even as her shoulder throbbed and blood ran down her side in thick, sticky rivulets.

There was no time to stop.

Another tree exploded to her right but this time it missed her, even as Aithusa wheeled overhead and snarled at the knights behind her.

'_There!'_

Ahead, the mouth of a cave loomed wide, it's gaping maw shadowy and forbidding but Morgana didn't stop, plunging into the blackness behind Aithusa.

Inside Morgana was blind in the stifling darkness and only by the light of Aithusa's scales and the dragon's sudden bursts of flame, no bigger than candle flare could she see where she was running. Aithusa weaved them through the tunnel network, even as Morgana heard the knights dismount and enter the caves behind her.

She could feel the blood pound in her ears as the tramp of boots grew louder and louder behind her.

Still Aithusa flew on, and each cave they came to grew smaller and smaller until finally she turned left…and met a dead end.

"Aithusa?" And Morgana hated herself for the tremor of panic that wove through her voice.

Aithusa landed and pushed her snout into Morgana's hand in reassurance before turning her tiny white head towards the cave wall.

'_Watch.'_

The dragon breathed out, slowly, her breath shimmering against the bare rock and Morgana frowned as the cave wall began to ripple as though a great stone had been thrown into a pond. The ripples spread outwards, circling wider and wider until they were as big as a person and the rock began to fade and behind it stretching onwards was a great black tunnel with the faintest glimmer of light at its end.

Morgana edged forward and put her hand through the place where moments ago the cave wall had been. Her fingers slipped through into cold, inky blackness.

There was a sudden terrible crash behind her as the knights rounded the corner, Merlin and Arthur in the lead and Aithusa was screaming in her head.

'_GO!'_

Morgana flung herself into the tunnel, Aithusa behind her. Merlin and Arthur were gaining, they were almost upon them-

As the cave rippled once more, the last thing she saw was the green of Merlin's eyes, the flash of Arthur's sword.

Then the cave wall sealed up between them and she saw them no more.

* * *

Blinking in the piercing darkness, Morgana conjured a small sphere of golden light in her right hand, and stared around her at the oppressive grey walls of the tunnel they had found themselves in.

"Where are we?"

'_The Future.'_

Morgana stumbled and sat down on a rock, mind furiously tumbling over itself. "How is that possible?"

Aithusa sat on her haunches and if it were possible for dragons to do so, smirked, baring all of her teeth. '_I am DragonKind._'

Morgana passed a hand over her face and took a deep breath. "That explains precisely nothing."

Aithusa wrapped her tail around herself and snorted a smoke ring. '_I am DragonKind,' _she repeated smugly.

"Fine," said Morgana tiredly, leaning her head back against the cave wall, and cradling her injured arm in her lap. "How far exactly into the future are we? A few months… a year?"

'_Fifteen hundred years approximately,' _Aithusa replied, scenting the air. '_And we are in Scotland.'_

Stunned into silence, Morgana simply stared at the dragon as the facts of the situation began to sink in. "Fifteen hundred years? Then everyone… everyone I've ever known-"

'_Will be dead. Yes,' _replied Aithusa plainly. _'And their children and their grandchildren and their children's children. I promised I would bring you somewhere they could not persecute you.'_

They were all dead. The thought sunk low into her heart and though that had been her goal for so long now, she found the truth gave her no pleasure at all. Instead, she simply felt lost.

"Fifteen hundred years." Morgana swallowed the lump that had risen unbidden to her throat. "Then I'm completely alone."

'_You have me,'_ replied Aithusa sharply and Morgana rushed to pacify her new friend.

"Yes. I'm sorry, of course I have you. And I am grateful for what you've done. It's all, just, a bit of a shock," she said softly, though the words were becoming more and more difficult to say past the tightening in her throat, the threat of tears behind her eyes.

She blinked them away furiously. She was Morgana Pendragon and she did not cry.

As if sensing her distress Aithusa curled up on top of her cold, dirty feet and sent her thoughts of comfort, even as Morgana grew more and more aware of how tired, and cold and hungry she was.

The pain in her arm had become a dull throb, though the wound had stopped bleeding now, and her congealed blood lay sticky and cold against her skin and her clothes. Every part of her was encrusted with dirt and her hair was matted and greasy. Her nails had torn whilst scrabbling against the cave walls; her feet were cut and battered, dark shadows bruised the delicate skin beneath her eyes and her lips were chapped and sore.

She was a mess, in a strange land in a foreign time. Only Aithusa anchored her to reality and even that link was tenuous at best. She leaned her head back against the cave wall and shivered, knowing that on the other side her enemies, friends, family had once been.

"They can't come through then?"

Aithusa shook her head tiredly as she dozed at Morgana's feet, warm puffs of air gently rising in the dank empty cave. _'No. And we cannot go back. This is our home now. What's done is done.'_

Trying to organise her thoughts into some kind of coherent plan, Morgana knew they could not stop here long, not without proper shelter or in her own case, medical attention.

"We need to find food," she said, "and I need to tend to my arm and then, then I will think. I will plan."

Aithusa snorted at her feet. '_We will plan. You are not alone anymore, Morgana.'_ The dragon rested her head back on her front claws. _'We can do nothing now, 'tis the dark of night here and it will be futile to hunt blindly. Wait until the dawn and till then try and rest.'_

Grudgingly, Morgana acknowledged the wisdom in Aithusa's words. Snuffing the ball of light out in her hand with a few whispered words, she settled herself as best as she could against the cold hard rock and with her free hand reached down to stroke Aithusa's scales, feeling a rush of affection for the creature curled at her feet.

Sleep was an impossible dream; instead she closed her eyes and attempted to find some peace, if nothing else.

* * *

She must have been dozing, for the next thing she knew a dull thump roused her from her fitful meditations, as though something very heavy and very large had landed outside the cave entrance.

Fear crawled up her spine as Aithusa tensed at her feet. The irrational idea that it was Merlin, Arthur and the Knights of Camelot about to burst into her hiding cave circled her thoughts even as she dismissed them as ridiculous. Even so, she reached for the jewelled dagger belted at her waist, the last present she had ever received from Arthur, and clutched it as tightly as she dared in her left hand, feeling her wounded shoulder protest but knowing she had little choice.

She spread the fingers of her right hand out like falling stars and called her magic to her, prepared to defend herself the instant it was needed. Aithusa's hackles raised and her wings spread out, claws scraping against the stone floor.

Outside the cave entrance, Morgana heard a man speak, his voice rough like silk over gravel.

"Dumbledore said this was the spot. We should be well hidden here and near enough Harry to keep an eye on him."

The cry of a loud bird pierced the air and Morgana stood, pressing herself against the back of the cave wall, feeling the sharp stone dig into her back.

"Quiet, Buckbeak, or you'll wake the whole of Hogsmeade," the man hissed.

The creature let out a small squawk, though whether of apology or indignation, Morgana could not tell. But she didn't have long to wonder for the man was speaking once more and his words made the blood race in her veins.

"Let's go and look at our new home for the next ten months then._ Lumos_."

A bright white light suddenly blossomed from the end of a stick held in his hand, and by its light she could make out the lean, tall figure of a man wearing a long coat, grey robes and thick leather boots. Something big moved behind him, bigger than anything in Camelot's stables; a creature with fierce yellow eyes, a cruel beak, the body of a horse and…wings?

She gasped and the man swung his light in her direction. The beams fell first on Morgana and then the dragon at her feet.

"Bellatrix?" His eyes widened in surprise and then something ugly flashed across the man's face like lightening. "_Stupefy_!"

She didn't know what that word meant but she recognised magic when it was aimed at her. Shielding both Aithusa and herself instinctively, the spell cracked against the golden bubble of armour she'd formed around them. The bubble shuddered under the force of the weight of magic and Morgana knew there was deep emotion behind those words, knew whoever this Bellatrix was that she'd been mistaken for, this man hated her…

Aithusa launched herself at the man. Raking her claws across his face, a burst of fire erupted from the dragon and he cried out in pain and alarm as the stench of burnt flesh and hair hung in the air.

"_Impedimenta_!"

And suddenly it was as though Aithusa were flying through mud, her movements sluggish and unwieldy as she struggled to attack again.

The half bird, half horse creature suddenly lunged, beak snapping. Immediately, bright scarlet beads of blood welled along Aithusa's right wing. The dragon hissed and wheeled away out of danger but still oh so slowly and the creature was coming back again and it was going to crush Aithusa in half with it's powerful beak-

"No!" Morgana cried out, and reacting to her distress magic burst from her hands in a wave of golden light.

The man's eyes met hers for a moment and grey burnt into green.

And then the light swept over him and his eyes rolled back into his head as he dropped to the ground. Behind him the winged beast fell too.

Shock paralysed her for a moment. What had her magic done? And then suddenly she found herself moving over to the bodies on the floor and dropping to her knees. With her good hand she reached out and placed trembling fingers against the man's throat, finding his pulse beating strongly against her fingers.

She let herself relax, if only for a moment. "They're sleeping," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else, but Aithusa, who had been tending to her wounded wing, nodded sharply.

'_Indeed. 'Twas a powerful sleeping spell that you cast. They'll sleep for hours, if not days.'_

"I didn't want to hurt them," she found herself explaining. "I didn't want my new start to be marked with bloodshed." She looked down at her own body where the thick jagged splinter was still embedded in her left shoulder, her clothes and skin covered in her own blood. "I've had my fill." She stood back up and regarded her friend with critical eyes. "How badly are you hurt?"

_'Tis only a scratch and will heal on its own.'_

"Can you still fly?"

Aithusa nodded. _'Well enough.'_

"Then we should go, before our visitors wake."

_'Very well.'_ Aithusa shook herself, stretched her wings and flapped them gently; testing her weight before with one strong downward thrust she was up in the air and heading towards the cave entrance, back to her normal speed.

Morgana took a deep breath and gathered herself together, preparing herself for the new world the young dragon had brought her to. Fifteen hundred years! She swallowed down the nausea that thought caused and cradled her injured arm to her body.

Fifteen hundred years in the future and the first person she had met had attacked her. She felt her mouth crook in wry amusement, because if she didn't laugh she was going to cry.

The first person she had met… she found herself gazing down at the man who lay unconscious at her feet and staring at him, drinking in all of the little details, taking note of his gently curling dark shoulder length hair, the strong cheekbones -now marked by Aithusa's claws- and his crooked nose- bent from being broken long ago, she guessed. A goatee framed a strong mouth and a proud chin, and the way he had held himself- if he had been born in her time she was sure he would have been one of Arthur's more roguish knights- unhesitating, reckless…but the thought of her brother was painful and she pushed away the memory, drawing herself back to the present and the man sleeping on the floor before her.

His shirt had fallen open and from her vantage point she could just see the beginnings of strange black markings that curled and crossed his chest. She had seen tattoos before- the druids she had met all bore them- but they were blue and purely for ceremonial purposes. These were dark and etched permanently into his skin. With his clear use of magic and his markings she wondered if he were part of some druid community that had survived this far into the future. A community where they used sticks to channel their magic and travelled with creatures she had never seen before.

Could there be others like him?

He had mentioned names to the creature beside him, she recalled. What had he said? One had begun with H, a Henry perhaps? And the other had sounded like fumbling or stumbling, but she shook her head as the names slipped from her memory. Besides, if they were this man's friends, she had little chance of meeting them on friendly terms. Perhaps they would even mistake her for this other woman, this Bellatrix, that the man had thought she was- a woman he clearly hated enough to strike down with magic. True, it was dark and she was covered in filth and he had seemed anxious and hunted…she took a breath and restrained her speculation. There was only one way of finding out and that was to find other people and see if they reacted to her as he had. She would be prepared this time and as her arm throbbed painfully against her chest she was reminded that she had little choice but to find help.

She would have to take her chances.

Her eyes fell back to the man, noting abstractedly his slim, wiry frame, narrow hips and what she guessed was a recently tanned complexion. He had been somewhere far, far away from this place Aithusa called Scotland, where the air was frigid and her breath ghosted round her face.

Scotland.

The name tasted strange on her tongue and for a moment she had a pang of homesickness so strong it robbed her of her breath. But then her shoulder ached again and Merlin's eyes flashed before her eyes and the moment was gone.

Aithusa's voice shook her from her thoughts. '_Come, Morgana, we must go from this place. Leave him now_.'

She turned to watch the dragon wheel in the sky, a sparkling white dot in the still dark night and felt her resolve harden, her will to endure flare brightly and her magic curl and settle warmly around her body.

She was Morgana Pendragon. She would survive.

She always survived.

She took one last look at the man asleep at her feet and then walked out into the twilight of her new world.

* * *

**Please Read and Review!**

**Your comments are always greatly appreciated and help spur on the writing of the next chapter. **

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**It's really that good a feeling ;)**


	2. A Witch By Any Other Name

**Title:** A Pair Of Shadows

**Rating:** T

**Pairing: **Sirius/Morgana.

**Setting:** Post Series 4 for Merlin, G.O.F for Harry Potter. I cannot stress how AU this will be.

**Summary:** Resurrected and on the run, Morgana is hidden by Aithusa where no-one will find her… in a cave in the Scottish highlands 1500 years in the future. A cave already shared by another fugitive, a fugitive named Sirius Black…

* * *

In her time as landlady of _The Three Broomsticks_, Rosmerta had seen many things. From breaking up witch fights to dismantling Puffskein nests in her cellar, from forcing Hagrid out of her pub come closing time to mopping up after the latest Weasley prank, Rosmerta had taken whatever had walked, run and in many cases stumbled across the threshold of her pub in her stride.

But even with all of her experience, when she opened the door for business that morning she wasn't prepared for the body that collapsed at her feet.

"What in the name of Merlin-…" Rosmerta took a step backwards in surprise and horror.

The girl, who could hardly be more than twenty five under all of that dirt, grime and blood, Rosmerta decided, had clearly been huddled in the doorway against the old oak of the door out of the elements. Opening the door had dislodged her, and now here she lay in an unconscious heap at Rosmerta's feet. Unconscious and bleeding…

Shocked out of her stupor, the landlady sprang into action, wand casting one spell after another as she levitated the young woman over onto one of the nearby tables. Rosmerta's bar-room brawl trained eyes travelled over the girl and took stock of her injuries, noting the pale aristocratic face under all of the dirt, a frame wasted from lack of food, gnarled black hair, ragged nails and feet torn and bloody from walking without shoes. Rosmerta let out a soft cluck under her tongue and shook her head.

What had happened to her?

Finally, her eyes took in the wound to her shoulder where a thick jagged piece of wood stuck from it, heavily coated in a layer of dark blood.

This was beyond her capabilities of bandages and butterbeer- the girl needed professional medical attention and Rosmerta knew only one place that would be able to properly take care of her. Casting a minor notice-me-not charm around them both she tucked the girl against her side and disapparated to the high street that held St. Mungo's.

The apparition safe point was in a back alley behind the hospital, and with a small crack Rosmerta and her charge appeared without notice between a set of industrial waste bins. Wrinkling her nose at the smell she strode out of the alley to the front of a large, old-fashioned, red-brick department store called Purge & Dowse Ltd, where crowds of shoppers skirted past the closed shop as they walked along the pavement, uninterested in the dusty window displays and outdated clothing.

Rosmerta's charm worked instantaneously, the eyes of the muggles sliding past her without hesitation even as she stood infront of the window and spoke to a rather ugly female dummy behind the glass, dressed in a green nylon pinafore dress.

"I need urgent medical attention. Now!" she ordered imperiously.

The dummy blinked its great false eyelashes once and nodded sharply, before beckoning with a crooked finger. Rosmerta clutched the girl tightly to her and then shoved her way past the glass, which rippled unpleasantly before swallowing them from the high street and spitting them out in the crowded hospital waiting room.

The hospital entrance was charmed to remove all cloaking charms and with a barely discernible pop the distraction charm disintegrated around them.

Instantly, a spotty looking Healer in lime green robes appeared next to Rosmerta's elbow, glasses low on his nose as he peered over a clipboard. "Good morning. Welcome to St. Mungo's Hospital. And what seems to be the problem with the patie-by Merlin's beard, what on earth happened…is that…is that blood?"

The Healer, who had finally glanced up from his papers, took one look at the unconscious bleeding girl Rosmerta supported and promptly fainted.

Behind him, another healer stepped calmly over his unconscious body and rolled his eyes. "Take no notice of Trainee-Healer Yardley, he's new here." He took out his wand and began casting diagnostic charms as he spoke, one hand finding the girl's wrist to take her pulse, even as a quill hovered in the air next to his clipboard, poised to write down his notes. "I'm Healer Hartfield. What's the patient's name and how did this happen?"

"I don't know her name," Rosmerta replied in frustration, "and I don't know how it happened. She just showed up on my doorstop this morning like this. I didn't know what else to do."

The Healer's eyebrow quirked in surprise and he cast a long assessing sideways glance at the girl from beneath his eyelashes. "How intriguing. No name, no identification, no money, no shoes and most importantly no wand." He scratched his head. "Quite a mystery on our hands. Are you sure she's a witch and not a muggle?"

Rosmerta put her free hand on her hip and stared him down. "She turned up in Hogsmeade and we both know muggles can't just wander into the village. Not with the number of spells it's got on it."

"There goes that theory… and she's not on our medical records either so there's no way of tracing her that way," Hartfield confirmed as a small burst of red light lit up over the girl's chest. "I suppose we'll just have to wait for the young lady to wake up and tell us who she is."

"She'll be all right then?"

"Well aside from her shoulder injury, she's malnourished and badly dehydrated but she should make a full recovery. Hopefully when she wakes she can tell us who she is and what happened as I can detect neither brain injury nor the performance of a memory charm upon her, which would cause her to be amnesiac."

He paused in mid-casting to interpret the set of blue and violet lights that lit up briefly over her shoulder before sucking the end of his wand in contemplation. "I rather suspect a robbery since she has no possessions on her, but if it was then they missed this rather fine piece," he said, gazing at the silver dragon bracelet encircling the young woman's right wrist. "I wonder why they didn't take- ouch!" Hartfield snapped his hand back as the inanimate dragon bracelet suddenly reared its head and bit him. "Well that would explain why," he said rather ruefully, nursing his bleeding finger. "Powerful anti-theft charm on that jewellery."

"Still think she's a muggle?" asked Rosmerta archly.

Hartfield cleared his throat and avoided Rosmerta's eye. Signalling two of his colleagues over he explained, "We'll take her to spell damage on the fourth floor. I think we can assume that her wound was caused by some sort of explosion- possibly an _incendio _charm gone wrong?"

"Or right," supplied one of the healers darkly, as they arrived.

"Yes, thank you, Healer Starkwell," Hartfield replied, shooting him a frown as he summoned a stretcher and levitated the woman onto it. "Take her to Healer Rhydian on Fourth with these notes and get someone to clean her up. Tell him I'll be up to speak with him in a moment. And will someone_ rennervate _Yardley please? He's cluttering up the waiting room."

Starkwell nodded shortly and Rosmerta reluctantly watched as the young woman was stretchered through a set of double doors and down along a narrow corridor beyond, lined with portraits of famous Healers. Then the doors swung shut and she was lost to Rosmerta's view.

"And when are visiting hours?" she asked impatiently, turning back to Hartfield, who only looked marginally surprised at her intention to visit.

"If you speak to the welcome witch at the front desk she'll be able to advise you on the best time to come," he replied distractedly, casting a _tergeo_ charm over his lime green robes where some of Morgana's blood had dried on his sleeve. Rosmerta realised her own robes were covered in dark red stains.

So much blood. How could one small woman hold so much?

"Now, if you'll excuse me," he said consulting his watch and frowning, "I have other patients waiting for me to see them."

"And she really will be alright?"

Poised to go, Hartfield paused. Something in Rosmerta's expression, however, must have softened him because he smiled at her kindly and gently touched her elbow.

"I promise you, she'll be as right as rain in a few days. These things always look worse than they are. As for you, why don't you get yourself cleaned up, have a cup of coffee or something stronger in the Visitor's Tearoom and then go home and rest. We'll contact you when she's up to receiving visitors."

Behind them there was a groan as Yardley was woken up by a Medi-witch.

Hartfield squeezed her elbow. "I really do have to go, but if you have any other questions, please don't hesitate to speak to a member of staff." He paused and took in her blood stained clothing and the pale-faced Trainee behind them, who swayed slightly from side to side and looked distinctly nauseous as the Medi-witch helped him stand. "Though it's probably best to stay away from Yardley looking like that, or we'll never get him up off the floor."

* * *

The ward was large and spacious, with three broad windows set high in the wall facing the door. Unlike much of the rest of the hospital, which was lit by shining crystal bubbles in sconces along the walls and ceilings, most of the light in this ward was supplied by natural daylight. The walls were of painted duck-egg blue brick and cream metal bedsteads lined the room, though only five were filled. A roaring smokeless fire blazed at the far end and hung above the fireplace was a portrait of a kindly faced old wizard with a shock of powder blue hair, who was reading quietly to himself fully clothed in an empty bath-tub.

It all served to make the pale faced, dark haired witch in the far end hospital bed seem very small and wan. Propped up by a mound of pillows and with her feet and shoulder bandaged as well as her arm in a sling to prevent her moving that side of her body she looked lost amongst the bandages, thought Rosmerta.

Still, she looked much better than she had done three days ago, slumped unconscious as she had been on the doorstep of The Three Broomsticks. Though there still wasn't much colour in her cheeks and the hospital gown seemed to dwarf her slender frame, her skin was clean of the dirt and blood that had encrusted it not too long ago. Her hair had been brushed until it fell in a waterfall of black silk against the pillow and even her nails had been filed and rounded. She looked like a normal young woman again, Rosmerta thought.

And then their eyes met and the landlady was taken aback by how old and tired the expression behind them seemed. Old eyes, old as though she'd seen too much or experienced something terrible at far too young an age.

And then she dropped Rosmerta's gaze to watch the Medi-witch who was fussing over her. The ginger haired woman bustled around her patient's bed, straightening sheets and checking her charts.

"…and you're sure you don't want us to contact anyone for you, love? A friend perhaps, if you didn't want a family member?" she asked in gentle mothering tones.

"Not unless you can speak to the dead," came the quiet answer.

The Medi-witch caught Rosmerta's eye and the two exchanged a look as she finished plumping the pillows. "Well, if there's anything else you need, just shout," she said sympathetically. "Now I'll leave you to your visitor, love, and then I'll bring you some lunch."

Rosmerta waited until the witch had bustled over to another of the beds before she sat down in the old wooden chair beside the bed. "Hello. It's Elaine, isn't it? At least, that's what the Healers have been telling me downstairs."

There was only a small pause before she nodded hesitantly. "Yes, Elaine White."

Rosmerta nodded and held her tongue at the flood of questions that the affirmation caused. White was not a wizarding family name she was familiar with, at least not a British one, but there was no trace of an exotic accent in her clear tones that indicated she was born abroad. There was always the chance that she was muggle-born then, but if so she was already old enough to have left Hogwarts, and in all her time in Hogsmeade she had never seen the girl in the village or even heard her name mentioned amongst the other pupils who would have been her schoolmates. Perhaps she had been home tutored?

The sound of someone clearing their throat tugged the landlady from her thoughts and Rosmerta realised Elaine was waiting for a response. Embarrassed by her lack of manners she felt her cheeks heating and tried for a smile. "Sorry, I was…well it doesn't matter. I'm Rosmerta, it's nice to meet you properly."

Elaine however, waved away her apology. "I understand that I have you to thank for bringing me here. Healer Rhydian says you carried me in and made one of the Healer's faint." A faint smile touched her lips for a moment. "I must have looked quite a state."

"Oh, I don't know. You seemed better than some of my regulars after a late Saturday night," Rosmerta joked gently. "And you're looking really well now."

Elaine raised an eyebrow at her blatant lie but the faint smile still played at her lips. "They burnt my old dress," she said, motioning to the green hospital nightgown she wore. "And this is hardly what one would call flattering, but I suppose not having half a tree embedded in one's body is always a decided improvement."

"I could bring you a change of clothing if you like when I visit next." Seeing the expression that flashed across Elaine's face, Rosmerta hurried to explain. "Not that I'm suggesting you don't have any clothes you could change into, I'm sure you have plenty, but if you just needed some in the meantime and of course they would all be very big on you but we could take it in with a quick spell here and there along the waistline and it would fit you a treat, just so you don't feel-"

Elaine's pale, elegant fingers reached out and gently touched her wrist and the landlady ceased her ramblings.

"That's very kind of you," she said gently. "I'd be grateful. After all, the Healers can't discharge me in a hospital gown." She smiled self-deprecatingly. "I think I'd cause even more commotion than my arrival."

Rosmerta blinked in surprise. "They're thinking of discharging you? Already?"

Elaine's look turned distant and her fingers stroked over the silver dragon bracelet that Rosmerta now spotted peeking out from under the gown's long green sleeves. "The Healers say my shoulder is recovering well, and that if I keep taking the pain tonics they prescribe there's no reason I can't leave in a few days."

"So you'll be going home soon then," Rosmerta said without thinking.

A sudden flicker of something dark rippled across Elaine's face and the expression made the landlady shiver.

She swallowed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

Elaine shrugged awkwardly, wincing as the action jostled her shoulder and Rosmerta wondered just how high her pain medication was. "It doesn't matter. I can't go back."

Rosmerta chose her words carefully, unsure of Elaine's history and not wishing to cause further pain to the young witch. "Whatever happened…whatever you did or, or someone else did, I'm sure it's not as bad you think. It's never as bad as we think it is. I'm sure your family loves you and are missing you as we speak-"

"No," Elaine interrupted fiercely, colour appearing high in her cheeks, even as she held herself proudly together. "It's not what you're imagining. I can't…it doesn't exist anymore. It's all gone." Her fingers gripped the bed sheets tightly. "They're all gone."

"I'm sorry." Rosmerta reached out as if to press her hand comfortingly on top of Elaine's clenched one, but the girl stiffened and Rosmerta dropped her hand back again.

Elaine swallowed and with visible effort relaxed her hands, smoothing them over the bed sheets and looking anywhere but at Rosmerta. At length she began to speak, hesitantly. "There was a…a tyrant who hated magic where I lived and he killed people. Lots of people. So some of us fought back but…in the end it didn't matter. His son took his place and the killing continued and neither side won. We just kept going and going until there wasn't anything left. There was just…death."

"Here you go, love. Lunch and the paper for you," interrupted the Medi-witch bustling over and shooting Rosmerta a dirty look.

She hadn't even finished placing the tray on the middle of the bed before Elaine had reached over and snatched the _Daily Prophet _and spread it over her lap, hand pressed against the newspaper possessively, as though it might disappear at any moment.

"I know you like you're news, love," clucked the Medi-witch, "but don't let your dinner go cold like yesterday or I'll have to stop giving you the Prophet till after you've finished your meal."

Elaine rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes. I'm eating, look." She reached for a shiny red grape with her pale slim hand, and rolled the red fruit between her fingers carefully before plucking it from the stem. She popped it in her mouth and two bites later she swallowed before raising her eyebrows at the Medi-witch. "Happy?"

"Better." Turning to Rosmerta her smile dropped and she tapped her wristwatch. "Visiting times are over in ten minutes," she said tightly. "Ten minutes and not a moment more."

"Don't mind, Elsa," said Elaine softly, as the Medi-witch walked away slowly, shooting them both looks over her shoulder as she went. "She's a bit overprotective of her patients."

"No, she's right; I shouldn't have brought the subject up. We should talk about something else instead." Her eyes landed on the bright yellow and gold flowers which sat in a vase on the bedside table. "Those are lovely."

"The lady in the next bed gave me them. She saw I didn't have any and I think she felt sorry for me," replied Elaine distractedly, as she read the front page and traced a hand over the moving figures in the story. "But yes, they are lovely."

"Anything interesting in there?"

"What? Oh," Elaine smiled a little awkwardly, embarrassed Rosmerta thought, to be reading the _Daily Prophet_ with such fervour. "No, nothing much. I've just always liked knowing what was happening and there's always such a lot to learn," she replied and then frowned, as though she'd said something wrong. Her fingers once again fidgeted with the heavy silver bracelet on her wrist, stroking over the dragon's head tenderly.

"It's a beautiful piece of jewellery."

And suddenly Elaine was smiling, a proper smile and the transformation was so startling, Rosmerta thought for a moment she was a metamorphmagus. Gone was the air of ancient sadness and in its place was a brilliantly smiling young woman with startling green eyes.

"It belongs to a friend of mine," she said.

"Then your friend has good taste."

"Your ten minutes is up, I'm afraid," Elsa interrupted, hands on her hips as she appeared at the end of the bed, though she didn't look apologetic in the slightest, Rosmerta thought. She was also fairly certain that ten minutes had not gone past, but she wasn't about to argue- the Medi-witch looked rather fierce and practiced in shooing visitors out.

"I'll visit at the end of the week, see how you're doing," the landlady said, rising to her feet. "Bring that change of clothes we talked about if you like."

"I look forward to it," Elaine replied, but to Rosmerta's disappointment the smiling girl was gone.

She'd already been replaced by an indecipherable blankness, distant and cold except for her eyes, which still blazed ancient green.

* * *

Elaine's words haunted Rosmerta for the four days that she remained away from the hospital. No matter how much she scrubbed her table-tops or swept her floors, no matter how many customers she served or even how many barrels of Butterbeer she carried up from the cellar, her words still nagged at the corners of the landlady's mind.

_There was a…a tyrant who hated magic where I lived and he killed people. Lots of people. So some of us fought back but…in the end it didn't matter. His son took his place and the killing continued and neither side won. We just kept going and going until there wasn't anything left. There was just…death._

_Where_ had Elaine come from? Rosmerta kept an eye on the Wizarding news just like any other witch or wizard would, and she hadn't heard anything about a local dark wizard uprising, or magical persecution lately. In fact the latter was incredibly rare these days- normally it was the other way round, wizarding kind getting the better of the muggles in their ignorance about magic.

In fact, magical persecution hadn't been around, or at least, not in Britain since the seventeenth century and not since the First Wizarding War had there been any sort of carnage of the type that Elaine seemed to be talking about.

So where was she from? And just how exactly had she ended up on the doorstep of a pub in Hogsmeade and so close to death?

There was only one way Rosmerta would get any answers, so four days later she was back in St Mungo's, a change of clothes in a bag in one hand and the deluxe edition (Sunday Special) of the _Daily Prophet_ clutched in another, in the hope that if she could only tempt Elaine with the newspaper she could coax more answers out of her reluctant new friend.

But when she arrived, the Hospital was in uproar.

The waiting room was fit to burst, people sat on every available bit of furniture or stood, herded in small groups and talking animatedly. The noise was deafening.

"What's happened?" she asked the nearest person to her, and then repeated herself at the top of her voice when he shook his head and pointed at his ears.

"Some patient's done a runner!" he yelled back at her over the noise of the chatter.

"What?! Who? When?"

The wizard shrugged. "That's all I know. I've been here since six this morning waiting for the Healer to see me but everyone's too busy trying to find the bugger."

Frowning, Rosmerta elbowed her way through the crowds of patients in the waiting room to the Welcome Witch, ignoring the commotion around her and the nagging that was welling in her chest, which she recognised as something like dread.

"I'm looking for Elaine White. Is she still on the fourth floor?" she asked when she finally got to the front desk.

The witch's eyes widened and a gleeful gossipy smile stretched her lips thin across her face. She looked as though she wanted to clap with the pleasure of informing someone of the news.

"You mean you haven't heard?" she asked slowly.

"Heard what?"

"That she left hospital this morning via Floo."

Disappointed Elaine had left without saying goodbye Rosmerta felt herself snapping at the witch. "I know she said the Healers were going to discharge her in a few days-"

"A few days?" The witch cackled. "They wanted her to stay for another six weeks. An injury like hers, no wand, just her word that she was who she said she was? They wouldn't have let her go for all the gold in Gringotts."

Rosmerta felt her chest tighten painfully. "But she said-"

"Forget it. Whatever she told you wasn't the truth. I doubt her name was even Elaine White," the witch said smugly. "She knew they wanted to keep her under observation, but she convinced the Medi-witch on her ward to let her go for a walk to stretch her legs. Next thing we knew, she'd stolen a set of Healer's robes and got Yardley to give her access to the Floo network."

"Not the _Imperius_ Curse?" Rosmerta asked horrified.

"No. Apparently, according to the portraits, all she had to do was smile at him and he was putty in her hands," came the disgusted response.

"The portraits? Why didn't you just ask Yardley?"

"Because he's been unconscious most of the morning. Realised what he'd done, didn't he, when Healer Rhydian came storming down the stairs. Fainted out of terror, the poor sod, and he's been out cold all morning. They keep _rennervating_ him and he just keeps blacking out at the looks on their faces. Lad wasn't cut out for the medical profession if you ask me; mind you he'll be lucky if they keep him on after what he's done," she added and rubbed her hands together in delight. "And speaking of crime and punishment someone wants to speak to you."

Rosmerta felt somebody come to stand behind her and when she turned there were two blank faced Aurors stood waiting for her.

"If you'd just follow us please, Madam Rosmerta, we've a few questions we'd like to ask you."

"Am I under arrest?"

The Aurors looked at each other, before the shorter of the two stepped forward and spread his hands wide in the universal gesture of peace. "You're not under arrest. We just want to have a little chat with you about the missing patient, Elaine White and what you know about her."

"Is she in trouble?"

"Discharging yourself against medical advice isn't a crime unless you're a danger to the public," the Auror said plainly, "but stealing a set of Healer's robes and impersonating a Healer in order to do so is, so we'd like to speak to her if you know where she is. From what I understand from the Healers, Miss White's mental health was also questionable and so for her own safety it would be best for her if she was to be returned to St Mungo's-"

Rosmerta bristled. "There was nothing wrong with her mental health. She's not mad, for Merlin's sake!"

"Of course not," the Auror replied calmly, "but leaving in the way she did and with no wand or money, it's for her own good that we try and find her before something happens to her. After all, no-one knows how she sustained her injury and if she was deliberately attacked that same person could be out there looking for Miss White in order to finish what they started."

Rosmerta hesitated. "I-I hadn't thought about it that way."

"So if you'd like to come with us, I'm sure we'll be able to resolve this situation as quickly and easily as possible."

"I suppose so."

Suddenly, the Welcome Witch who had been watching everything from behind her desk, coughed loudly. "Oh, I almost forgot, Madam Rosmerta, she left this for you," she said innocently, handing her yesterday's _Daily Prophet_. "They found it on her bedside table."

"The newspaper?"

The Welcome With smirked. "Read between the lines."

The landlady frowned but as she narrowed her eyes she could just make out the tiny slanted italics of a handwritten note in between the printed lines of newspaper story. And as the message became clearer, the knotting feeling of dread tightened like a vice in her chest.

_Rosmerta, if my plan has worked then no doubt by now you know I have gone. I couldn't stay and I'm sorry for lying to you- the Healers were kind but they had begun to ask questions I wasn't prepared to answer. I've always hated prisons, even ones made with the best of intentions. Know that I am safe and that I will never forget your kindness in saving my life. One day, I will find a way to repay you. _

_Please, don't look for me. _

_E._

Folding the paper in two she carefully tucked it into the bag of clothes she had brought, and shuttering her face into the same carefully blank mask she had seen Elaine wear she turned to the Welcome Witch, who was watching her hungrily, hoping to capture every tiny detail and turn it into more salacious gossip. "Did the portraits say where she went?"

The Welcome Witch frowned. "No, apparently she cast a silencing spell before she took the Floo. No-one knows where she's run off to."

"Madam Rosmerta?" the Auror interrupted. "It's time to go."

"Very well." Rosmerta allowed herself a small smile as she turned and began to follow the Aurors over to the one way Floo network. The green flames leapt high in the chimney breast as she approached the fireplace and as she stepped into the hearth she squeezed her eyes shut and muttered a prayer to whatever deity was listening.

"Keep running, Elaine," she muttered under her breath. "Keep running. Don't look back."

There was the glitter of Floo powder and the Auror's clearly stated address as the flames leapt even higher.

And then Rosmerta found herself in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

And waiting for her, quite patiently, were Albus Dumbledore and a large black dog.

* * *

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	3. An Unexpected Haven

**Title:** A Pair Of Shadows

**Rating:** T

**Pairing: **Sirius/Morgana.

**Setting:** Post Series 4 for Merlin, G.O.F for Harry Potter. I cannot stress how AU this will be.

**Summary:** Resurrected and on the run, Morgana is hidden by Aithusa where no-one will find her… in a cave in the Scottish highlands 1500 years in the future. A cave already shared by another fugitive, a fugitive named Sirius Black…

* * *

First there were flames, reaching high over her head, green and dancing along her skin.

And then she was falling and there was a tunnel, a black curling tunnel with bright lights that flashed past as she tumbled onwards and onwards in the darkness. And still the flames licked at her flesh, cool and dry like tall blades of grass on a summer's day and suddenly she was seven again and rolling down the fields surrounding Camelot. And Arthur was rolling just infront of her, arms stretched out, laughing and laughing and she could almost catch him-

There was a sudden bang and Morgana tumbled out of a fireplace. Rolling into a heap on the floor, she abruptly sat up as a spasm of coughing racked her chest even as disturbed smoke and ash drifted up around her.

'_That is a most unpleasant way of travelling,' _grumbled a small voice from beside the sorceress. Aithusa shook herself and sneezed, as soot swirled up in thick clouds from the fireplace they had landed in. '_It's dirty and disgusting and was clearly created by someone with barely any sense,'_ the little dragon grumbled, rubbing one paw across her blackened snout in vain. '_And now I'm filthy and I have soot where there should not be and I am DragonKind and this is most unbecoming!'_

Morgana let out a shaky laugh and winced as her shoulder protested the movement. A week of medicated numbing potions and the ache was still as strong as ever.

"I'm not sure it was supposed to be like that. _The_ _Daily Prophet_ implied that everyone uses this…Floo Network… and they can't all be going round looking as though they've just escaped from a fire." She brushed the smuts and dust from the stolen robes she wore in vain and then sighed before standing up. "I don't think this is where we were supposed to be either. At least, it doesn't look like it. Something must have gone wrong."

'_You mean other than being tossed and turned in a dark tunnel and spat out the other side as though we were two pieces of coal down a tube_,' Aithusa muttered, sitting on her haunches to lick clean the scales on her belly. '_Surely travelling like that cannot be right_.'

Morgana however was surveying the room they'd found themselves in and shaking her head, narrowed her eyes in confusion. "This can't be the right place," she murmured, running one finger across a dust covered table. "It's filthy."

'_Perhaps no-one cleans in the future,' _Aithusa replied, not looking up from her grooming.

"But this amount of dust doesn't accumulate from the idleness of a few weeks. This is years of…abandonment." Morgana frowned. "But even laying aside the obvious issue of no-one having disturbed this place in years, it looks nothing like the Graig-Llwyn I remember."

'_We are fifteen hundred years in the future, Morgana,_' Aithusa reminded her sorceress._ 'Things will have changed.'_

"But this feels…wrong." She stared at the grey room, with its sagging silver wallpaper, moth eaten curtains and cobwebbed covered furniture. "My uncle's home was light and airy and always smelled of the sea…" she trailed off. "Aithusa, can you hear anything?"

The dragon cocked her head to the side for a moment before returning to her washing. '_No, I hear nothing.'_

"Graig-Llwyn always smelled of the sea because it was built on a hill overlooking the bay," Morgana replied, panic weaving its way into her voice. "You could always hear the crash of the surf from the castle, no matter the time of year. And yet, here there is nothing."

"_Morgana, fifteen hundred years-"_

"-have passed, I know, and things have changed. So you say. But the sea does not change. You cannot move the sea!" she snarled and before the little dragon could say anything the dark haired witch was running for the door on the other side of the room.

'_Morgana!'_ Aithusa cried in alarm. _'Wait! We do not know where we are, anyone could be outside the room!'_

But her words went unheeded, as the witch ran in desperate panic out into a dark corridor beyond, the old oak door slamming into the wall with a tremendous bang as she threw it open.

A sudden terrible screaming filled the house.

Frightened, Aithusa scrambled out after her friend, only to find Morgana unharmed and standing ashen faced at a large painting at the end of the dimly lit hallway. A painting of a drooling woman with yellowing, tightly stretched skin and rolling eyes. A woman who was shrieking loudly at them.

"Filth! Traitors! Mudblood scum! Invading the most noble house of my fathers and marking it with your wretched degenerate presence! Be gone foul beasts! Staining the House of Black with the impurity of-"

'_Morgana?'_ Aithusa asked, as the painting continued to rant and rave and the witch stared open-mouthed, as the woman in black threw her arms up in despair, spit flying from her mouth and staining her dress foamy white. _'Morgana!'_

The witch seemed to shake herself from her thoughts and when she looked down at Aithusa she smiled ever so slightly.

"I think it is time for a little honesty in exchange for some help," she murmured to the dragon, before turning back to the raving painting. "That is quite enough!" she stated, quietly and clearly, before holding up her hands and bringing them together in a thunderclap of noise and light that shook the paintings in the corridor and rained down dust from the chandelier. "My name is Lady Morgana Le Fay, daughter of Uther Pendragon, rightful heir of Camelot, sorceress and High Priestess of the Old Religion." She sank into a deep curtsy. "And I am in need of your assistance."

The woman in the painting had stopped screaming and was staring at Morgana with wide eyes. "Morgana Le Fay?" She shook her head. "You're mad."

Morgana raised one eyebrow quizzically and exchanged a startled glance with Aithusa, rising from her curtsey to stand once more. "You've heard of me?"

"Morgana Le Fay is legend amongst wizarding kind. Tales of Morgana, Merlin, Mordred and Camelot are among the first tales we tell our children," the woman scoffed. "Of course I've heard of her. But that woman has been dead for thousands of years."

"I assure you I am quite alive and quite sane. Though the past week has been rather trying and now I am talking to a painting, so the latter is debatable," she conceded drolly.

The woman frowned and stared down at her from the wall. "You cannot expect me to simply believe you when you show no proofs of who you are. Your words are not enough."

"What evidence do you require?"

The woman's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "The legends say that Morgana died from the wounds inflicted by Merlin as she fled from Camelot. If you are she, and you did not die, show me the mark where you were injured."

"As you wish," Morgana replied, tugging the corner of her robes down from her neck and revealing the shiny dark pink scar that now ran across her left shoulder, a jagged line that spread like the cracking of ice across a frozen lake. "Proof enough?"

"A scar like that could have been obtained any number of ways," the old woman sneered. "Another test. This canvas is attached to this wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm. Remove the canvas."

Morgana frowned, but Aithusa merely stalked up to the painting and with a small inhalation blew a fine jet of red hot flame at the picture. Immediately, the canvas began to bubble and run, blackening and crumpling as it melted from the dragon fire.

"Enough! Stop!" the old woman shouted, as the flames licked higher and she stamped her feet up and down as though she could put out the fire herself.

'_A pity, I was rather enjoying myself,'_ Aithusa snorted even as the fire died.

The woman stared at them, finally noticing Morgana's companion for the first time. "The white dragon. The legends spoke true." Her eyes narrowed in disbelief and her gnarled arthritic hands clutched convulsively at the fabric of her dress. "I don't understand. How can you be here? How is this possible?"

"Dragon magic," Morgana replied succinctly as Aithusa curled herself in between Morgana's legs. "Now do you believe or do you require further proofs?"

"One final test, a humble spell- light the lamps in this hallway with your magic."

Morgana frowned, wary of the suspiciously simple request. "How is such basic magic a test of who I am?"

"Just do as I say," the woman snapped, "or is such an uncomplicated spell difficult for you?"

Instantly, the hall lamps blazed with light. Tiny spheres of flame bloomed in each glass holder along the corridor and circled the chandelier that hung before the great staircase, until a hundred pinpricks of fire smoldered and bathed the dusty, moldering house in a gentle glow.

"It is you," the old woman breathed, rheumy eyes wide in astonishment. "By Merlin's beard, I never thought to see such a thing, and in my house! Of all places…and you're alive and so young…"

Morgana lowered her hands, the old words of the spell that had risen so readily to her lips already fading and leaving behind the faint taste of magic in their wake. The familiar tang of honey and ash. She shook her head. "I don't understand. Why should that convince you so?"

"They say those of the Old Religion, those in the time of Merlin when the magic ran free and untamed, that their eyes glowed gold when performing spells- gold, the colour of pure magic. That trait has long since passed from the bloodlines of our people. But your eyes… your eyes still gleam the colour of undiluted magic... my lady." And finally, the woman's drooping, wizened old features collapsed into what could have been a smile and she curtseyed, clumsily, as though out of practice. "How can I be of assistance to you?"

And for the first time since arriving fifteen hundred years into her own future Morgana felt herself relax, because here was someone who knew exactly who she was and what she was capable of. And they _liked_ her.

She took a deep breath and felt something within her chest loosen and realised she was smiling. "Well," she began, as Aithusa scrambled up into her arms and curled her tail around Morgana's shoulders. "I suppose we should start at the beginning; my first question therefore being…who are you and where on earth am I?"

* * *

"Forgive me, Dumbledore, but I don't understand your interest in the matter. As far as I was aware St Mungo's was a hospital and not a school, and therefore none of your concern."

"That is quite enough," murmured Dumbledore quietly to the large black dog beside him who was snarling, hackles raised at the Minister of Magic. "Cornelius, I find it only prudent to investigate the disappearance of a witch from St Mungo's when said witch appeared so close to Hogwarts, badly injured and in possession of some rather powerful magic."

"Surely one witch is hardly a threat to the defences surrounding Hogwarts, unless the school is not as safe as you always claim it to be?" Fudge replied in astonishment, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers.

"Of course Hogwarts is safe," Rosmerta interjected heatedly, "and Elaine is no threat to the school! Dumbledore, she's not dangerous, she's just frightened and reclusive."

The dog snorted.

"Precisely, Dumbledore," Fudge blustered, fiddling with his hat. "Frankly, I think you're blowing this whole matter out of proportion."

Dumbledore tilted his head to the side, his blue eyes grave and considering. "Out of proportion? Consider the facts, Cornelius. A young unidentified woman, with wounds obtained we know not how, appears out of thin air in Hogsmeade village. There are no records of her ever existing anywhere and she slips, once again out of everyone's hands from a highly secure hospital, managing, incidentally, in the process to change the memories of everyone there without the slightest problem."

"Change the memories of everyone she's- Dumbledore, what are you talking about?"

Dumbledore turned to the landlady and smiled kindly at her. "Rosmerta, what does Elaine White look like?"

Rosmerta frowned. "Well, she's blonde, with a lot of curly hair, blue eyes, olive skin. Like she's seen a lot of sun. French accent."

The Aurors who had accompanied Rosmerta to the Ministry started and looked at each other with wide eyes. "That's not what the Healers we've spoken to told us. They said she's got auburn hair, very straight and long. Hazel eyes and a scar on her left cheek."

Dumbledore nodded. "It is also very different to the description Dilys Derwent gave me when she told me what happened this morning. She spoke of a dark haired, pale skinned witch, which corroborates with the description given to me by another source who witnessed Elaine White's arrival in Hogsmeade."

"And who exactly is Dilys Derwent?" Fudge asked in exasperation.

"She was a former Hogwarts Headmistress but she was also a Healer at St. Mungo's and therefore has a portrait hanging in the admittance area of the hospital. As such, she was able to witness all of the events of this morning and inform me of them immediately." Dumbledore peered down his glasses at Fudge and frowned slightly. "Memory magic is not the most readily learned or applied and this spell shows great power and finesse in it's execution. Consequently, I am puzzled as to why you find the use of such complex and subtle magic following the disappearance of Miss White to be inconsequential."

"Now wait a moment Dumbledore, I didn't say that-"

"And with the Tri-wizard Tournament taking place and so many more students than normal filling the halls of Hogwarts, is it not better to be safe than sorry?"

Fudge scowled. "We have no picture of her. The only reliable description is from a portrait and your mysterious eyewitness and I cannot order the Aurors to arrest every dark haired, pale skinned witch they meet."

"Agreed," replied Dumbledore evenly, "but may I suggest-"

"No," interrupted Fudge sharply. "I am not in need of another of your suggestions. As you yourself said we have visiting schools in this country at the moment and the last thing we need is to destabilise our already shaky political connections just because one woman runs off from St Mungo's and does a few little memory charms here and there. I won't have another public scandal."

"Cornelius-"

"I'm running late for an important meeting, Dumbledore," the minister replied, standing up from his chair and placing his hat on his head. "I consider the matter at an end. We need the Aurors concentrating on finding real criminals, murderers like Black. Not some runaway girl with a talent for memory modification."

The dog beside Dumbledore barked sharply at that and Fudge jumped, before scowling and motioning to the two Aurors stood in his office.

"Show them out. Dumbledore. Rosmerta. Good day."

The landlady watched the Minister sweep from the room before turning to the Headmaster, her brow creased in trepidation. "My memories- she really has changed them? I didn't even notice."

Dumbledore smiled at her absently and patted her hand kindly, but there was steel behind the twinkle in his eyes as he stood to leave. "Yes, your memories have been tampered with. But you said yourself you don't believe Elaine White to be dangerous and you heard the Minister say he thinks the matter of little importance."

"But you don't agree."

"My dear Madam Rosmerta, I cannot remember a time when the Minister and I have ever agreed on anything." He smiled, but the expression did not reach the arctic blue of his eyes. "I was sadly mistaken to think we would start today."

* * *

Later that evening, sat beside a blazing fire in the library, Morgana ran a finger over the pages of the large, worn leather book that rested in her lap, feeling the beginnings of a headache burgeoning behind her eyes.

Sat in the hospital bed of St Mungo's it had been easy to dream of escape. Easy to plan her next move, to garner every scrap of information she could from those around her, from the newspapers they supplied her with, from the patients and staff and Rosmerta. And the discoveries had come thick and fast and ranged from tiny, subtle changes to the ridiculously bewildering. They had printed scrolls called newspapers with coloured portraits of figures that _moved_. They had pictures that could speak and taps that ran hot water and something called a lavatory. They didn't use candles for lights and the floors were not covered in rushes to keep in the warmth. They travelled by fire instead of horses and ate things she'd never dreamt of, sweet foods which made her teeth ache and her tongue sing. They channelled their magic using strange little sticks called wands. Their fashions were odd and their speech was peppered with phrases and words she had never heard before and meanings she could only guess at. And most importantly they had a fully functioning community built around magic.

It was beyond anything she could have dreamt of, lying in her hovel in the woods and planning the overthrow of Camelot. Her people had a place in the world, openly practiced their magic with each other, had built lives, successful lives and they were happy.

And yet.

Sat in the gloom of the Black family home, with nothing but cobwebs for company she felt herself falter.

The plan had been simple. Leave the hospital. Travel to her Uncle's estate (for castles were built to last and surely it would still be in the hands of her family's descendants, even after so many years). Seek refuge. Build a new life. Live.

The reality was very different.

Walburga Black had shaken her head when Morgana had discussed attempting to get to the castle for a second time.

"Forgive me, my lady, but Graig-Llwyn is nothing but ruins now. It's no wonder the Floo brought you here instead. It must have been the nearest approximation it could make."

And she had continued to shake her head as Morgana reeled off name after name of castles and homes she had known and visited from a young age. Tintagel, Roxburgh, Cadbury…all were crumbled into nothing but dust; the families long dead and the bloodlines lost. At last, in desperation she had mentioned Camelot, but Walburga's faced had creased into confusion.

"No-one knows where Camelot Castle is, my lady. They say Merlin hid it from all eyes after King Arthur's death, and though many have tried, none have found it to this day."

So here she was in London, apparently, far away from anything and anyone familiar to her. No doubt people from the hospital would be looking for her and if they found her what could she say?

The library door creaked open and Aithusa trotted in, claws clicking on the smooth oak floorboards.

"Where have you been?"

'_Having dinner,'_ the little dragon replied, licking her teeth with smug satisfaction. _'There was something delicious in the curtains.'_ Padding over to Morgana she tilted her head to the side and regarded her friend with concern_. 'What's wrong?'_

"We're in story books. _Story books_. I'm a fairy-tale, a history lesson." Morgana gestured to the open book infront of her. "It's madness! One week I'm the ward of a king, the next I'm some sort of dark legend in this world and I-I…"

'_Feel a little overwhelmed?'_ Aithusa pushed her snout into Morgana's palm and rubbed her head against the witch's hand. '_It's alright to feel lost, you know._ _No-one is expecting you to suddenly adjust to living in this time.'_

"I know that," Morgana replied, stroking Aithusa's snout gently with the tips of her fingers. "But there's just so much I don't know and don't yet understand."

'_Then we will focus on today, and then think of tomorrow. And when tomorrow comes we will think of the day after, and so on, until you are ready. Walburga said we could stay here for as long as we needed.'_

In fact, the old woman had become quite insistent on the point, and when Morgana had pointed out that relatives might try and come to the house, Walburga had scowled, an ugly look creasing her face into something dark and hateful.

"Don't speak to me of family- I have none worth speaking of. Of my two sons one is dead and the other is disowned and in Azkaban; or he was though now I hear he has escaped and is running wild around the country."

Morgana and Aithusa had exchanged concerned looks. "Would he not come here?"

But Walburga had shaken her head, her yellowing skin darkening in anger across her cheekbones, eyes wide and rolling. "He hated this house and this family. No, he would not dare step foot over its threshold! As for my other relatives, most of them are dead or a disgrace to the name of Black and have not visited or been welcome to for decades. You would be left alone here."

And when Walburga had found out that they were most likely being looked for by people from the Ministry she had become immovable in her decision that Morgana should stay.

"Muggle lovers and half-breeds! The Ministry is riddled with Mudblood scum and polluted blood lines and they dare look for you? It would be my honour for you to live in my house, my lady. I swear on my honour as a Black that you will be safe in my home."

And then she had summoned a strange little thing, a creature that Walburga called a House-elf; a wizened old raggedy being, with tufts of sprouting white hair, flappy ears, a long nose and wrinkled white skin.

Morgana had managed to stifle her surprise as it appeared suddenly by the kitchen door at Walburga's bidding, but Aithusa had growled low in her throat. The house-elf had looked at the dragon warily and shuffled backwards uneasily, before making a little dipping motion that Morgana assumed was a bow.

"Kreacher is here, Mistress. What is Mistress wanting Kreacher to do?"

After that everything had been simple.

Kreacher had shown them to the best guest bedroom the house had, though the splendour of the room was now faded beneath a thick blanket of dust and decay. Something hairy and with many legs had scuttled under the chaise lounge as the door had creaked open and the tall handsome dressing table mirror pushed against the large bay window was spotted with age.

But for a moment Morgana could pretend she was back in her room in Camelot, with its velvet drapes and large fireplace and thick bearskin rugs on the floor.

"Kreacher is tidying up rooms tomorrow," the house-elf had apologised slowly, his voice low and creaking with disuse.

"Never mind," Morgana had replied carelessly walking over to the large double bed and brushing the dust from the silver covers, "I'm just grateful for a bed and the kindness of your mistress." And it was true. For she'd lived in a hovel in the woods for over a year and though the Black house was filthy with decay, to Morgana anything with a staircase was a luxury.

Kreacher had bobbed uncertainly then and shuffled to and fro in the doorway as though unsure what to do with the unexpected visitors, or Morgana's easy acceptance of his apology. It probably didn't help that Aithusa had leapt to the floor from her position around Morgana's shoulders and was regarding him with narrowed liquid dark eyes, her claws slowly extending and retracting across the wooden floor.

"Is Lady Fey hungry?" Kreacher had asked suddenly. "Kreacher will bring food for guests."

And since then he'd been bringing food every hour or so; sweet rolls, hard cheese, rich old wine, something dark and burnt in a green and silver mug that the elf called coffee. And whilst Kreacher had fed her, Aithusa had taken herself off to find her dinner in the crevices of the house, beginning with the hairy spindly thing under the chaise lounge in their bedroom.

Morgana had wrinkled her nose and left, deciding to explore her new home, only to discover the first room she had tried was a library.

Lured in by the sight of so many books filling the walls, so much knowledge waiting to be read and feeling the soothing creep of magic, dark magic wrapping around her, she picked the first book she found and settled down by the empty fireplace. A quick burst of magic and the hearth was roaring.

And there she had stayed all day, enthralled by her new found world.

There was a sudden banging from downstairs and Morgana instantly raised her hands defensively.

Aithusa however merely snorted a plume of fine grey smoke from her nostrils and settled more firmly against Morgana's side.

'_Kreacher is cleaning the kitchen,'_ the dragon explained. _'Though if you don't want to keep jumping everytime you hear a loud noise I suggest you place some warding spells around the house to discern good from evil intent_.'

Morgana nodded decisively. "And I suppose I'd better come up with a new alias too. Morgana Le Fay seems to have quite the reputation and Elaine White is no longer viable, so I'm going to have to become someone new…again."

'_Indeed. And though the memory modification spells you worked were a pretty piece of magic, I suggest we lie low here for a week or two before venturing out again.'_

* * *

Three weeks later, a young woman with a thick silver dragon hair clasp wrapped around the dark bun of her hair appeared silently in a shadowed doorway in Knockturn Alley. Wrapped in a large black cloak against the encroaching winter weather, the hood pulled low over her face against the wind, she stepped out into the empty street.

But before she'd taken more than two steps, a familiar face stopped her cold where she stood.

A familiar face with haunting grey eyes.

"Hello, Sirius Black."

* * *

**Please Read and Review!**

**Thank you for all of the lovely reviews for the previous two chapters, I know some of you have been speculating about what is going to be coming up, but all I can say is that in the next chapter Morgana tests out her alias, meets a Malfoy and causes some massive property damage.**

**From here on in things are going to get..._interesting_.**


	4. Of Thieves and Allies

**Title:** A Pair Of Shadows

**Rating:** T

**Pairing: **Sirius/Morgana.

**Setting:** Post Series 4 for Merlin, G.O.F for Harry Potter. I cannot stress how AU this will be.

**Summary:** Resurrected and on the run, Morgana is hidden by Aithusa where no-one will find her… in a cave in the Scottish highlands 1500 years in the future. A cave already shared by another fugitive, a fugitive named Sirius Black…

* * *

The wild eyed man snarled at Morgana from the Wanted poster flapping in the cold winter wind. With quick fingers she reached out and snatched it from the wall it was pinned to.

Sirius Black. Here was the son Walburga so clearly despised. The heir disowned. Her mysterious man in the cave. She read through the details listed on the poster and felt her mouth curling into a grim little smile. A wanted criminal. A murderer. A fugitive. And she knew exactly where he was. Or had been.

She traced a finger across his jaw. The reward for his capture was large, temptingly so. Still, those grey eyes pierced hers and she felt something twinge in her chest. She knew what it was to be hunted afterall...

And then she felt the slightest of movements against her hip. Her hand darted out lightning fast.

"I shall not be parting with my dagger," she spat coldly, gripping the wrist of the unfortunate would-be thief. "Even if I were not attached to it, its sentimental value is far outweighed by its usefulness. Like using it to cut off your fingers one by one for daring to pickpocket me."

"I wasn't trying to steal it. Honest, missus," responded the squat, bandy-legged man with long, straggly, ginger hair whose wrist she held in her painful grip.

"Why do I not trust a word that comes from your tongue?" she retorted.

With a sudden jerk he twisted his hand free and reached for his pocket, but Morgana was too quick. Before he could even close his fingers upon his wand she kicked his legs from under him, grasping his left hand and twisting sharply till the bone cracked. Dragging his other wrist back till he cried out she pressed her blade point to his neck.

"What would be appropriate for an odious little man like you?" she murmured softly to him. "Perhaps I'll take your eyes so you can no longer lust after what isn't yours. Or maybe I'll just hex off all your fingers- can't steal without those now can you?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the man whimpered.

"I should hope so. I've made better men than you beg at my feet." Barely masking her disgust as she contemplated the trembling man she finally retracted her knife and sheathed it. "I shall be generous this once. But speak of this to anyone and I will find you and make you regret what you say very much. And I am very good at making people regret things. I can be…most unpleasant when annoyed," she said softly.

The man nodded hastily and with a flick of her fingers she released his bent wrist.

A sudden crack of displaced air and the man disapparated.

She touched Arthur's dagger at her waist and then pulled her cloak around her more firmly, making sure it covered the sheath. Ironically, she almost felt better- defending herself had been instinct both during her time growing up in Camelot and later when she'd left. The violent encounter almost made her feel at home. As if a simple thief thought he could get the better of a woman who had bested the great and good of the Round Table. She snorted.

Folding Sirius' poster in quarters she tucked it into the bodice of her dress and turned on her heel, only to find a man watching her from the mouth of the alley. This one had long, smooth, silvery blonde hair, handsome, sharp features and carried a snake headed walking cane.

He inclined his head to her and she returned the greeting slowly, watching warily as he moved towards her.

"Forgive me," he said silkily when he reached her, "but I couldn't help noticing your exchange with Fletcher."

"What of it? He's not a friend of yours, is he?" Morgana asked brusquely, brows narrowed and fingers twitching by her side.

"By Merlin's beard, no. The man's a petty criminal and a half-blood to boot. My name is Lucius Malfoy," he replied, but though his tone was honey, behind his eyes there was flint.

Morgana met his assessing glance head on, her own eyes sharp and calculating. "Ana Grey," she offered, presenting him her hand and the new name she'd created in the weeks she'd spent at Grimmauld Place.

He bent and kissed her knuckles lightly, and at the old gesture of greeting she felt herself warm. It had been too long since anyone had greeted her with anything so respectful as a kiss.

"Malfoy- I've read your name often in _The Prophet_," she said carefully as he straightened.

"And yet yours is not one I know," he replied smoothly, but there was bite behind his question that Morgana wouldn't have recognised if not for her years of negotiating the maze of court politics. The newspaper had furnished her with all the details she needed to know about the man infront of her. He was rich, powerful, influential, friends with the Minister of Magic. And his magic felt dark and she knew all of his prejudices.

She smiled inwardly to herself. Anyone less would have been intimidated. But she was Morgana le Fay, daughter of kings. She knew exactly how to handle a man like this.

"I would be very much surprised if you had heard of me," she sniffed, drawing herself up proudly. "My family is an old one and we withdrew from this world centuries ago in an effort to keep the purity of our bloodlines untainted. It has only been quite recently that a few of us have ventured back into society. The curse of curiosity I suppose," she smiled wryly and watched as Lucius relaxed unconsciously at her lies. The way his eyes gleamed at the hint of power and old money and pure blood.

"And what do you make of it so far?"

"Well, the indigenous population leave something to be desired."

Lucius smirked and offered her his arm. "On behalf of the scum I apologise. Allow me to show you we are not all alike." Seeing her hesitation he added, "Come, you said yourself you've only recently arrived. Allow me to offer you a tour. I would add protection but you seem to be able to take care of that well enough."

She bit back a smile. The man was smooth as ice and twice as slippery but such a potentially dangerous foe could make a powerful ally if suitably tamed.

"I admit I am not familiar with these streets and your help would be useful," she acquiesced.

"And not unpleasant, I should hope?"

"That remains to be seen," she retorted, smirking, before slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. "Now, I have urgent business to attend to at Gringotts, if you would be so kind as to show me the way."

"As you wish."

* * *

The bank was large, imposing and full of goblins.

Burying her revulsion beneath a mask of indifference, she firmly pushed away the memories of the goblin creature that had wreaked havoc in Camelot, subjecting them all to its own brand of mischievous humiliation. Afterall, these goblins only vaguely resembled the creature that had terrorised the castle's inhabitants for so many weeks. If she had to work with them to get what she wanted, she would bury any bad feeling she held until the time was right.

Steeling herself, she walked the length of the bank, feeling eyes watching her as she headed to where a goblin with a rather large nose was writing carefully on a large ledger as he balanced coins against a set of brass weights.

He looked at her from over his spectacles and in his gaze she felt as though he'd stripped the skin from her very bones and he knew all of her dark and inward parts.

And as the bank grew quiet around them the goblin suddenly bowed very low.

"My lady. Welcome back."

Before the thrice damned goblin could reveal who she really was she turned to Malfoy and smiled sweetly.

"Lucius, I'm not sure how long my business will take-"

"Then I will wait for you at the teashop next to Fortesques, opposite the bank," he interrupted easily, even as the curiosity burning behind his eyes flared bright and hungry at her unsubtle attempt to get rid of him. Good breeding prevented him from asking though, and she was instantly grateful for the strict pureblood protocols of etiquette that dictated his every move.

Really, it was no different to being in Camelot's court, and there she had been the queen of political manoeuvring. She had had Uther as a tutor afterall.

With a shallow bow Malfoy excused himself and Morgana waited until the wizard had fully exited the bank before she turned back to the goblin at the counter.

"My name is Ana Grey," she corrected, smiling through gritted teeth. "I'd like to open an account, please."

"You already have an account with us, Lady Pendragon," the goblin replied smoothly, lifting an eyebrow. "Though if you wish to set up another account with Gringotts under an assumed identity, we can of course accommodate your wish."

Momentarily wrong footed, Morgana felt the familiar mix of anger and fear claw at her chest and grip tight at her heart. "How do you know my name?" she asked coldly.

"You own our biggest vault and goblins have a long memory. We never forget a face connected with such wealth."

Confusion deepening, her mouth pulled into a scowl. "But how…how do I have such a vault?"

"You're too young to recall it but before Uther banned magic he traded with us quite freely. After the Queen's death he hoarded our gems and jewels and magical artefacts in the vaults below the castle," the goblin explained patiently. "After Arthur's death and before Emrys sealed the castle we simply removed the treasure and stored it here. According to human laws, as the sole heir of both the house of Gorlois and the Pendragon lines you were entitled to it, so we simply waited for your inevitable re-appearance."

"Inevitable re-appearance?"

"Where there is an inheritance to gain, humans predictably turn up to obtain it," the goblin explained grudgingly, his distaste for mortals clear in his tone. "You disappeared without trace…but we knew one day you would return to collect, no matter how long it took."

"Exactly how rich am I?"

The goblin closed his ledger and set his glasses aside. "Perhaps it would be best to show you."

* * *

The journey down in the cart was not what Morgana would have termed a pleasant experience. The twisting passages and the blinding speed with which the cart rattled along the tracks made her grip tightly onto the sides till her knuckles turned white, and there was a distinct roiling in her stomach at each corner they rounded.

Still, what turned her stomach the most was the great dragon they passed to reach her vault. They were deep in the belly of the earth now and not a chink of sunlight filtered down through the layers of rock so that the creature had become bone white, scales flaking and rough. Morgana's breath hitched as she took in the chains that wrapped around it's rear legs, the lack of room that prevented the beast from stretching it's wings properly, it's milky, half-blind eyes, and the deep gouges across it's snout from what she could only guess were swords. Her disgust deepened when the goblin leading her drew out a small bag and shook it, till the cave was full of the noise of ringing metal and the dragon was a trembling ball, pressed as far back against the cave wall as it could go.

Still, Morgana knew the value of waiting for the opportune moment, so she held her tongue as they passed by the dragon and followed the goblin deeper into the darkness.

Finally they turned a corner and she found herself in a circular room with branching corridors, each passageway holding a number of shining green doors, neatly numbered in pale gold in the centre of each entry.

"Well," she murmured impatiently to the goblin beside her. "Which vault is mine?"

"All of them."

"They're _all_ mine?"

"We had to have them dug especially," the goblin explained proudly. "The interest alone necessitated the building of two corridors and in the end we've simply had to start melting the galleons into bars because storage was becoming tricky."

Morgana let out a low oath under her breath. The sheer scale of the wealth she now possessed was incredible, far beyond anything she had ever imagined possible. When she had walked into Gringotts she had coming looking to open an account- now she found not only did she have one already but that she had more money than she could ever spend in a lifetime.

"Open one," she commanded and the goblin hurried to fulfil her order, pressing his whole body against a door marked 289. He muttered something is a deep rasping language before slicing a finger open on one of his sharp teeth and pressing it against the green metal. The door shivered and there was a deep rumbling from inside. Then the door swung open silently and Morgana was blinded by a sea of gold.

Slowly she walked inside the vault, eyes narrowed against the glare of light after the darkness of the tunnels. Chests of jewels winked in the light, boxes of gold lay stacked all along the room, there were mirrors rimmed with silver, statues of bronze, and there, in the middle of the room, lying on a marble table was her crown.

Her trembling fingers brushed against the dark beaten gold, tracing the intricate twists and curls of the design before her thumb brushed over the ruby set in the middle. She swallowed and picked the crown up, fingers caressing the metalwork as she raised it up before her eyes. The temptation to wear it once more almost threatened to overwhelm her, but with cold, cruel logic she knew if she placed it upon her head she would have to remove it before she left again.

She had already been uncrowned once. She would not go through it again.

Regretfully, she placed the crown back on the table and continued her perusal, finding to her delight a box containing some of her favourite pieces of jewellery from Camelot, as well as her chainmail shirt and sword. She already had her father's ring of course, the signet ring of the House of Gorlois lying snugly around her middle finger and the jewelled dagger Arthur had given her, for she had been wearing both when she was transported through time, but to find her other belongings made her feel a little less alone.

"I'm going shopping," she stated abruptly, lips twitching in a smirk as the goblin who had accompanied her jumped. "Is there a way of simply putting things on my account rather than physically taking the money I need with me?"

The goblin nodded. "Before you leave we will speak to Transactions, who will be able to give you a Debit Purse, which will enable you to simply reach inside and draw out the exact amount required everytime. Of course, anything that requires a contract to be signed before purchase, such as a house or a large quantity of goods, will automatically transfer the amount required from your vault to the vault of the recipient upon signing of the contract."

"And if anyone asks about the vault?"

"Then it belongs to Miss Grey," the goblin replied solemnly.

"Excellent." She motioned to the casket of jewellery and her chainmail armour. "I require these to be moved here," she said, handing him a slip of paper with the address of Grimmauld Place written upon it in black ink. "And I expect nothing less than discretion."

"Of course, of course," the goblin murmured with a touch of impatience. "We have kept this secret for centuries; we shall have no problem continuing to do so."

"Very well then, I believe my business here is concluded."

She stepped once more into the darkened circular room and waited for the goblin to finish shutting the vault before he led her back to the cart. Once more they passed the white, imprisoned dragon, and with the barest wisp of magic she loosened the chains tethering its legs.

If the dragon stared hard at her as she left, blinking its great rheumy white eyes as it felt the chains slip slightly then the goblin did not notice and Morgana said nothing and kept walking.

She did not look back.

* * *

"I took the liberty of ordering us some refreshment."

Lucius pushed a cup of tea towards her as she sat down in one of the many gilt backed red chairs in_ Elixirs._ The tea shop was large and opulent, full of dark wood panelling, marble floors and gas lit chandeliers. It smelt of cake and spice, tea and the sharp taste of lemon.

It was exotic and beautiful. Morgana instantly fell in love, but hid her smile of pleasure behind her china teacup.

"How kind."

"Was your business successful?"

"It was…satisfactory," she concluded, taking a sip of the richly spiced tea. She would have to ask Kreacher if he could create something similar as cinnamon and nutmeg danced along her tongue and she watched Lucius over the rim of her cup. She could see he wanted to ask more but good manners and even better breeding prevented him. What she knew for a fact though was that with the goblin bowing incident back in Gringotts she had firmly solidified herself in Malfoy's mind as someone to have as an ally. "So tell me about yourself, Lucius," she asked, placing her teacup down. "After all, I can hardly be escorted around by someone I don't know. You could be… anyone."

The implication against his blood type was hardly subtle but it worked for her purposes and just as she knew he would, he visibly bristled at her accusation.

"The Malfoy's are a very old wizarding family," he stated, pulling a photograph from inside his robes to show her a beautiful woman, with long blonde hair and cold blue eyes, arms around the shoulders of a young boy with the same pale hair as his father and his mother's eyes. "My wife, Narcissa and our son, Draco."

"You have a beautiful family," she agreed. "And your son, where is he now?"

"Hogwarts. I would have liked to send him to Durmstrang but my wife objected, didn't want the boy so far away. So now we have to put up with that muggle loving Headmaster who lets in all and sundry, pupils and staff alike. Did you know last year they let a werewolf teach? I mean, for Merlin's sake-"

Morgana flinched at the name but fortunately Lucius missed it, as an owl landed on the table between them at that moment. It stuck its leg out impatiently at Malfoy.

The wizard quickly unravelled the piece of parchment attached and scanned its contents, as the owl dipped its beak in his tea. Lucius scowled but didn't shoo it away, burning the paper with a small wordless spell between his fingertips.

"I'm afraid this is urgent. Ministry business. I do hope you'll forgive me for leaving."

"Of course. These things happen." She tilted her head and watched the owl stretch its wings and then take off lazily back into the sky.

Lucius stood and reached for his cane before turning to her once more. "My wife and I are holding a dinner party at Malfoy Manor at Yule; you'd be a most welcome addition to our company. I know you'd get on very well with my wife." At her hesitation he added, "The people attending are all from old pure blood families; think of it as an opportunity to expand your circle of acquaintances."

Morgana dipped her head. "Thank you, I look forward to it."

"8pm at our Manorhouse then. I'm sure Cissa will write to you before though." He kissed her knuckles. "It was a pleasure."

"Indeed. Until then."

She watched him walk away and then reached for her tea, sipping it slowly before picking up a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ someone had left on the table beside her. She flicked over the front page where a large picture of a dark haired boy with thick rimmed glasses in Hogwarts robes was trying to get away from the photographer- twisting his face away everytime Morgana tried to get a good look at him. Of course she knew who he was- she'd never read a copy of _The Prophet_ whilst she was in hospital that didn't mention the Boy-Who-Lived, but she'd learnt to take the paper's articles with a pinch of salt.

"_I suppose I get my strength from my parents. I know they'd be very proud of me if they could see me now...Yes, sometimes at night I still cry about them, I'm not ashamed to admit it...I know nothing will hurt me during the tournament, because they're watching over me..." _

She rolled her eyes and put the paper back down, reaching for her Debit Purse and heading for the counter to pay.

Only to find that Malfoy had already settled the bill.

* * *

Shopping was just as much fun as Morgana remembered it to be. Having borrowed one of Walburga's old dresses (still hanging in her wardrobes after all this time) she was eager to finally acquire her own clothes. The owner of Twilfit and Tattings had taken one look at the thick silver dragon clasp wrapped around her hair and the jewelled dagger at her waist and had practically fallen over himself to help his rich, but apparently decades out of date customer.

And his eyes had widened further in pleasure when Morgana had explained exactly how many items of clothing she needed and the amount of galleons she was prepared to spend to be outfitted properly.

The following hour had passed in a whirlwind of dresses, nightgowns, slippers, boots, robes, silks, satins, leather and lace. Expecting to be loaded down she had been pleasantly surprised when with a small flick of the owner's wrist all of her purchases had folded themselves up, shrunk themselves down and fitted into two plain black paper bags inscribed with Twilfit and Tattings in silver.

But she didn't simply buy clothes. Dipping into every shop, she found herself purchasing history books she'd never seen at Grimmauld Place, never-ending candles for night reading, parchment, quills and ink, a large leather travelling trunk and a tiny silver compass that pointed in the direction you required rather than North.

She'd just finished buying a foe glass from a shop in Knockturn Alley that smelled of blood when there was a loud blast from Diagon Alley.

Then came the screaming.

Racing back she was just in time to see the roof of the bank fall apart in a spray of tiles and exploding brickwork.

The white dragon burst out from the roof, claws scrabbling at the masonry before pushing off into the air, tail catching chimney pots and tiles, sending them crashing to the ground in a shower of deadly shards. Witches and wizards were running screaming from the beast and the falling debris, some casting shield charms as they ran, others dodging into shop doorways as the rubble rained down.

A sweet smile of victory crossed her face as she watched the carnage, even as her conscience tugged at her to do something. A large part of her wanted to leave- afterall, surely they had all known what Gringotts held trapped down in the bowels of the bank? None of them had thought to rescue the creature.

And yet. Coming here had been about new starts. No bloodshed. A fresh beginning.

Unbidden, Gorlois' face swam before her eyes and with a sigh she gave in to her better instincts and cast out a silent invisible burst of magic, careful to keep her eyes closed so no-one noticed the gleam of gold from her irises.

And as the dragon faded from view, lost in amongst the clouds, the falling masonry shivered and changed, wreathing the cobbled street in xeranthemums and snapdragons instead.

White and purple petals swirling through the air like confetti, Morgana allowed herself one final look at the astonished crowds from her place at the corner of Knockturn Alley. Then, before she had the chance to be spotted she slipped out of existence and re-appeared in Grimmauld Place.

Aithusa unwound herself from Morgana's hair as soon as they arrived back. With the barest ripple the silver hair ornament changed back into the snow white dragon, who sat on her haunches and regarded the sorceress seriously.

'_I will be gone sometime- my kin needs my help_,' the little creature murmured inside Morgana's mind. '_Perhaps a week or so. Can I trust you not to get into any trouble whilst I am away?_'

"I'll be fine, _mother_," Morgana returned, rolling her eyes as the dragon snorted smoke through her nostrils. "Go. I have plenty to keep me occupied."

Aithusa looked as though she could have commented more but refrained, and when Morgana blinked the dragon had gone.

"You'd think I was an infant," she groused to herself before running her fingers through her hair, shedding petals to the wooden floor. A floor that she could see her reflection in she realised, which meant Kreacher had finally got round to cleaning the drawing room. The house elf had been spending every spare moment polishing and tidying the house and though there were still plenty of rooms to go, it looked less like a tomb than when she'd first arrived.

In fact, the drawing room was so well polished she almost slipped on the floor as she stepped forward and only managed to catch herself by clinging to what appeared to be a family tapestry hanging from one of the walls.

Straightening herself up, she was just tracing a finger over the many burn holes in the fabric when from the corner of her vision something gold and green caught her eye. It was a locket of heavy gold she realised moving closer, with a serpentine _S_ in glittering green stone inlay on the front.

Dark curiosity suddenly rose within her and she wandered over to the glass cabinet that held it, glistening in the gas light. Something rippled beneath the gold and her hand reached out. The tips of her fingers grazed the surface of the glass. Something was whispering…

There was a small pop from behind her.

"Lady Fey is back… and smelling of flowers," Kreacher complained, bobbing his knobby head in greeting as Morgana blinked. "If Lady Fey wishes, Kreacher has built up the fire in the library and there is wine and cake if Lady Fey is hungry?"

Morgana smiled her thanks at the wizened bony creature as her stomach rumbled, and she was reminded that she hadn't had anything but a cup of tea since breakfast. "That sounds lovely," she agreed and turning on her heel she left the room, closing the heavy wooden door behind her.

The drawing room fell silent. The shadows shifted back into the corners from where they had crept.

And for the moment, the locket once again lay forgotten in its gleaming glass case.

* * *

**Please Read and Review!**

**Thank you so much to everyone who has read and favourited, added to alerts or left me a couple of lines, it really does make a writer's day to know their stories are being appreciated. **

**Hope you liked this chapter, coming up next time Morgana makes life difficult for everyone (again), Harry attempts a very different First Task and Sirius worries. A lot.**


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